Deleted Scene: Unbidden Desires
by Sue Bridehead
Summary: Ginny gets a little peek into the psyche of the enigmatic transfer student from New Zealand, Michael Grant. One-shot. (sorry about the lame title...)


Author Notes: I found this little cookie in my files, polished it up, and thought I'd go ahead and post it. It was supposed to be a scene in "Unbidden Desires" that would have taken place during Interhouse Cooperation Week. Although this particular scene didn't work into the overall plot, the Advanced Potions scene with Draco and Hermione, while vastly different, was inspired by it.

This scene would have happened some time after Chapter 7 and before Chapter 16. If you haven't read the fic, it's a PG-13, Draco/Ginny (of course!), mystery/romance, and takes place in Draco's sixth year. In it, Michael Grant (original character) is a fifth-year Slytherin transfer student from New Zealand. (He's attractive, but a bit on the disturbed side – and apparently devoted to You-Know-Who.)

Please share your comments. (Keeping it all bottled up inside isn't good for you, is it?) grinAnd thank you, fyrechild, for the beta read!

_**Deleted Scene: Unbidden Desires**_

On entering the Potions classroom Monday morning, Ginny saw that Professor Snape had written directions on the board for the potion they were to prepare that day. She gasped; it looked dreadfully complicated.

As she shuffled toward her usual table, things went from bad to worse. Snape told his fifth-year students to choose a partner from the other side of the room, which meant . .

_Oh, great,_ Ginny thought,_ I'm going to be partnered with one of those Slytherin goons. Which one is the best of the worst? _she wondered as she set down her books.

Before she had a moment to actually consider that question, a tall figure stepped directly behind her and tapped her on the shoulder. He was so close that she could feel his warm breath on the back of her neck. _All right, which inept thug wants to play footsie instead of make potions?_ She turned around.

"G-Grant," she stuttered nervously, all the while thinking, _Please don't say you want to work with me. Tell me anything besides that – tell me my hair is awful . . I've got spinach in my teeth . . . anything!_

With a winning smile, he offered, "Partner with me?" He was rather nice-looking, when you took away the creepy attitude and the horrific manner he had with his Slytherin cronies and house-elves.

Seeing as there were precious few others left to choose from, she swallowed and nodded, saying, "Sure. Want to sit here, or over on your side?"

"No, this is fine," he answered casually, dropping his knapsack. He took his seat then scooted his chair rather close to hers, barely bothering to mask the devilish smirk on his face.

She sat down cautiously. Her mind racing, she asked herself, _Why me? Aren't there any other fairly decent Gryffindor girls you'd prefer to sit with? Or any boys you want to punish? _

Still, as this potion looked to be extremely difficult, having a partner – even if it _was_ Michael Grant – meant potentially less work for both of them. Forcing herself to get into the spirit of things, she asked him kindly, "Would you mind picking out the ingredients we'll need? I'll set up the cauldron and warm it up, all right?"

He acquiesced, quickly gathering the necessary materials and bringing them back to their table within ninety seconds.

_I can do this,_ Ginny told herself. _He's just a kid, no older than me. I can do this. It'll be fine. _

She began chopping the roots while Grant carefully combined the first three ingredients in the cauldron. Stirring the mixture, which was supposed to thicken but not too quickly, he said, "So. Miss . . Weasley, is it? We've never really had the opportunity to get to know one another."

"No, we haven't," she answered, her eyes never leaving her knife.

"I'm from New Zealand. Most people seem to be curious about my homeland, to one degree or another. Is there anything you want to ask me about it?" He added quickly, "Or, we can talk about – just anything, really. Fill me in on all the Hogwarts rumors; who dates whom, who broke up with whom, all that tripe."

Mildly surprised that a 15-year-old boy would take an interest in such things, she looked up at him for the first time since he'd sat back down. He shrugged and explained, "I have a little sister back home who's a raging gossip. I rather miss all that."

Thanking her lucky stars that he didn't want to discuss anything _too_ in-depth, or ask her questions that involved much thought, Ginny decided, _Maybe this won't be so bad after all. It's only for an hour._

She stared back at the roots and continued slicing. Meanwhile, she pondered how she could ensure that the conversation focused on him, rather than on her.

She began, "I see. Well – there's not that much to tell. We're just a typical school. To be honest, I'm not much into the gossip circles," she grimaced distastefully. Having grown up with all brothers – six of them – that sort of thing doesn't really do anything for me. Actually, I'm more the sports type. I _love_ Quidditch; do you?"

He chuckled and said nonchalantly, "Who doesn't?" He focused on his task, slightly lowering the fire under the cauldron to keep the brew at the proper consistency.

"Did you play in New Zealand? What's your favorite position?" she asked, realizing too late the double entendre her words carried. "I-I mean, what spot do you like to play?"

"What, me? Racing around on a broomstick, dodging Bludgers and hoping to avoid bodily injury? That'll be the day," he snorted.

"I thought all boys liked Quidditch," she remarked with a slight shrug. "I think it's loads of fun, and my brothers can't seem to get enough of it."

When the potion had been bubbling for exactly five minutes, she sprinkled in the roots. The blend hissed slightly, as it was supposed to, then he stirred it counter-clockwise briskly for a full minute and sat back to wait another five before adding the next ingredient.

Ginny continued, "I'm a Chaser, myself. I was temporary Seeker last year when our regular Seeker, Harry Potter, got banned from the game by this ogre of a teacher, Professor Umbridge. She just kicked him off the team, for no good reason, and two of my older brothers as well. It was all quite unfair, if you ask me."

Thinking he might just do that, she suddenly remembered that she didn't really want him to ask her _anything,_ especially anything too personal. She confessed shyly, "But I wasn't that good, really."

_Think, Ginny, think! Keep him talking about himself . ._

Flashing him her most innocent doe eyes, she said, "Well, Mr. Grant—"

"Please. Call me Michael."

"All right – _Michael,_" she said softly as she gave him a sweet smile. "Since we can't talk Quidditch . . you must tell me all about New Zealand. Or better yet, your family – I wish _I_ had a baby sister. I'm sure she admires her big brother."

_There. Maybe that'll puff your head up so big you'll forget what you wanted to ask me._

As she predicted, her Slytherin partner enjoyed talking about himself quite a bit. She raised her eyebrows, seemed impressed, and nodded at the appropriate times. That took up an extra 20 minutes, which allowed the potion to reach just the right temperature and thickness before she tossed the last two ingredients in. That left little more than a half-hour to go.

_So far, so good,_ she decided.

For the moment, anyway.

During a brief silence, he said, "Forgive me, Ginny; I've been very rude. Blabbing on about myself for the longest time, and I've learned next to nothing about you."

She squirmed in her seat, her nervousness threatening to return. _He really **is** the worst kind of Slytherin: deceptively polite. What does he **want**?_ She thought about shifting the focus back to him, but then she reconsidered.

_No, no – I can do this._

She laughed, "What could you possibly want to know about me, Michael?"

"Anything. Anything at all."

"Well, I'm the youngest of seven children, born to a traditional wizarding family. My father works for the Ministry of Magic, my mother takes care of the home, and I am the only daughter born in our family for many generations," she finished with a smile that exuded much more confidence than she actually felt.

"I see. Anything else one should know about the one and only _Miss_ Weasley?" he asked with curiosity, his eyes narrowing slightly. She wondered what he was alluding to without saying it.

"No boyfriends, no – prospects? Come now, a pretty lady like you must have more admirers than you care to admit." His voice was friendly, but his smile appeared to be forced, as if he felt none of what he was attempting to convey. It was just plain . . _creepy._

She scoffed, "Not likely. I have six older _brothers_, in case your math isn't up to snuff. They do a good job of, er, maintaining my virtue."

As he leaned over the cauldron, she could have sworn she heard him whisper something that sounded like, _"That's not what I heard." _

"Excuse me?" she asked, the blood rushing to her face.

"Hmm? I didn't say anything."

He eyed the mixture closely; it was in its final stages, gradually darkening from fuchsia to a deep, rich burgundy. It looked very similar to the sample Snape had shown the class at the top of the hour. Satisfied with the results, Grant looked up at her expectantly, indicating she should continue. "You were saying something about your brothers. Are there really _six_ of them?"

_He's just trying to get to me, that's all, _she concluded.

"Yes, that's right. You might know the younger three, or at least one of them. Ron is a sixth-year Gryffindor prefect. He plays Quidditch, too. He's both Keeper and team captain," she said brightly.

"Well, I've seen him around, anyway. Rather looks like you, doesn't he? Except he's not nearly as attractive," he added with what he hoped was an engaging smile. Although she wasn't really enchanted, she did her best to put up a convincing front.

"And then there are the twins, Fred and George. They're 18 and run a joke shop in Hogsmeade. They sublease space from Honeyduke's, so if you've ever been there, I'm sure you've seen them."

"No, I don't think I do. I don't really go for those Hogsmeade visits. Kind of dull by yourself, isn't it? Maybe if I had someone to go with me – like a girl – one who knows her way around the place . . . someone like _you_, perhaps?" he suggested, holding her gaze.

Ginny stared at him, utterly speechless. A few seconds later, he looked away. He stared fixedly at the potion and announced, "There. I believe it's ready now, don't you?"

Focusing on the cauldron between them, she scrutinized the results of their efforts. Professor Snape was strolling around the room, checking each potion for consistency, shade, temperature, and any other qualities he could use to find fault with them. He criticized Creevey (but not his Slytherin partner) for making it the wrong shade of burgundy and a bit too thin; he deducted 20 points from Gryffindor with flourish.

Ginny rolled her eyes in disgust. _That man's day just isn't complete without taking at least 100 points from our house! _Too late, she realized she had scoffed aloud.

Her partner leaned in a bit closer. He was a few inches from her cheek when he hissed, "What's the matter, Ginny? Don't you like my Head of House?" When she didn't answer, he said, "Or is it Slytherins _in general_ that you dislike?" He reached out a finger and stroked her arm gently. She fought the urge to pull away, hoping he wouldn't see that his needling was getting to her. But he did feel her subtle movement. Looking at her intently, his lip twitched as he said, _"But that's not quite true, is it – love?"_

Feeling the blush creep up from her chest, she wished desperately that she could disappear under the table and just crawl away.

Knowing he'd hit a nerve, he said softly, "You do find _some_ Slytherins attractive – don't you? Maybe one in particular . . _Miss Weasley?_" He spoke her name in a most intimate, knowing whisper. The sound of it caused her to shiver uncomfortably.

She jerked her arm away from him and pursed her lips indignantly. _How dare he?_ she thought scornfully. She was so flustered, she almost couldn't bring herself to look at him again, much less say anything. Instead, she focused her efforts on stuffing her items into her knapsack and getting away from this loon as quickly as possible.

He grinned with glee then muttered quietly to himself, _"Thought so."_

When the class dispersed a few minutes later, Ginny couldn't get to the door fast enough. In fact, she was one of the first people out of the room; watching her go, Grant chuckled softly to himself.

End

Your feedback is much appreciated. Chapter 22 of "Unbidden Desires" is coming together swimmingly and should be online in the next couple of weeks, with the next chapter following shortly after (I hope!).


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